


(So Kiss Me Where I Lay) Down

by agenthill



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [12]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill
Summary: In part, Fareeha is being deliberately vague, but, also, she finds she is a bit shy about broaching the subject. While she may have no need to be so, she is, nonetheless, a bit bashful about expressing this desire.Or,Fareeha wants to try something new, and it goes differently (and better) than she expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CommanderRoastedWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderRoastedWolf/gifts).



> So it was [Wolf](http://commander-roastedwolf.tumblr.com)‘s birthday this past month and I… totally missed it (fuck!) and this fic is me making up for that. With smut!

Fareeha is in bed, Angela lying half on top of her, with a thought bothering her. It is not an idea of great importance, nor is it one which must be given voice to in a timely manner, but it is one she has been mulling over for a long time, and so she feels compelled to broach the subject anyway.

“Angela?” she asks, voice just a bit hopeful, despite herself.

“Mmmh?” Angela stirs on her chest, tilts her head up from where it had been atop Fareeha’s heart, and makes bleary eye contact.

“There’s something I’d like to try,” says she, and at Angela’s somewhat confused look, she adds, “With you.”

“Not right now, I hope,” Angela sounds very tired as she says it, and she has a right to be, having been in surgery for most of her morning and the better part of the afternoon, as well.

“No,” says Fareeha, “Not tonight. Even if I did want to try right now, I don’t have all of the necessary equipment on hand.”

In part, Fareeha is being deliberately vague—she knows it will pique Angela’s curiosity, knows her lover is never one to let a question go unanswered—but, also, she finds she is a bit shy about broaching the subject. While she may have no _need_ to be so, and has not, historically, had such a need, either, she is, nonetheless, a bit bashful about expressing this desire. On her own, she may have explored this before, may have fantasized and tried with other partners, but Angela and she have never discussed it, have never even approached a topic adjacent to this one.

For her part, Angela is still trying to guess what it is Fareeha might be hinting at. From experience, Fareeha knows Angela will not guess until she is certain she has the right of things, will continue to frown, however cutely, until she thinks she has worked out a solution, and only then will she speak.

“Keep frowning like that, and you’ll be as wrinkled as my mother before you know it,” Fareeha pokes the wrinkle between Angela’s brows for emphasis, and cannot help but smirk at the soft glare she gets in response.

“If you wouldn’t expect me to guess these things, I should have no reason to frown,” her tone is playful, despite the reprimand.

“Alright,” says Fareeha, “alright.” She is not sure, still, how to say this without it becoming awkward, is not sure what it is precisely she _wants_ to say, but she does, despite all this, feel compelled to speak, and forces herself to try and phrase things correctly, “I want to fuck you,” says she and gets no further. There really is no way to say it without sounding terribly _crass._

A laugh from Angela, “I was under the impression that we had done that many times before, Fareeha.”

“Must you be deliberately obtuse?” Despite her words, Fareeha does feel a little better for Angela’s comment, does feel a bit less anxiety about simply saying things. “I was thinking I maybe… wanted to fuck you with a strap-on, if you wouldn’t mind?” The last of her words come out in a jumble, embarrassingly fast, and she does not know, for the life of her, why she is blushing so. This is as nothing, compared to the things she has confessed to Angela before, yet she finds herself discomfited to admit it all the same.

“Oh,” says Angela, sounding for all the world like this is something she has never considered, “I suppose I don’t see any harm in it. I’ve never been particularly interested, but if you’d like to try, I haven’t any real objections.”

That, for then, is that. Angela does not inquire further about Fareeha’s motivations, and the conversation drifts elsewhere before, eventually, they drift off to sleep.

Still, the thought is never far from Fareeha’s mind in the coming weeks. Too embarrassed to ask her landlady, or any of her friends, to ship her any of her toys which she left in Cairo when she answered the Recall, she waits until there is a lull on base to slip out to a local store and once again purchase for herself the necessary materials. To have ordered such things off of the internet would, theoretically, have been less embarrassing than purchasing them in person, not to mention more expedient, but if Fareeha has learned anything in her time in Overwatch, it is that Athena can be more than a little nosy, and she does _not_ think either she or Angela would like to discuss this with Jack, or, worse, her mother.

When she returns to the base, she meets Angela for lunch, as is customary, and walks her back to the Med Bay. In the doorway of Angela’s office, she whispers in her ear her plans for the night, a small encouragement to hurry home. (Left to her own devices, Angela will work, and overwork, and although Fareeha admires her dedication to her job, she wishes that Angela might keep more predictable hours. Such little incentives as the one she gives this afternoon are, by far, some of the most effective.)

Even so, Angela is somewhat later than Fareeha might like in returning to their quarters, and very apologetically explains that there was a bit of a lab accident—nothing major!—and she could not get away as soon as was her preference. She ducks into the shower and Fareeha is once again left in anticipation—this time, tinged with a not inconsiderable amount of nervousness.

In trying this, with Angela, now, Fareeha wants to learn if things are different for her, now that she does not identify as _female,_ now that she knows she is something else entirely, wants to see if the experience is more meaningful, is changed in any way, wants to experience what things might have been like had she been born in a body unlike her own—but she has not told Angela any of this. All she has said, all she has thought to say, and been able to put to words, is a plan of action, she has spoken not of her reasoning. Would it not be better to tell Angela, beforehand? Would it not be better to have full disclosure? And yet, Fareeha is still unsure what to say; in the weeks since she first broached the subject to Angela, and in the time in which she mulled over the idea before, she has not found words for what it is she is feeling, has hoped that, by the time they reached this point, she would know what to say—but here she is, in bed wearing only a strap-on and harness, and she has not a clue. Perhaps she could say that—

“Fareeha,” Angela’s voice refocuses her attention outwards, to where Angela is standing, and whatever Fareeha was thinking she might say leaves her mind.

Angela looks a bit nervous, and sounds more so, but what Fareeha notices first is that, in her time in the bathroom, Angela has carefully applied _very_ seductive makeup. If her intent was to disguise any anxiety, it has worked, because suddenly all Fareeha can think of is what those painted lips might look like on her skin.

Between kisses, they exchange words, Fareeha whispering reverently about how beautiful Angela looks, how lucky she is to have her, how nice this is to be able to try things—but even to her own ears they sound clumsy, her tongue made less clever by arousal, by wanting, and by her inability to say what is truly on her mind. Even feeling the press of Angela’s breasts against hers, feeling clever fingers brush against the sides of her face, so softly, feeling the weight of Angela as she moves to straddle her hips, is not quite enough to distract her.

She is just about to speak, to interrupt the moment, when Angela speaks for her, “I’m sorry,” says she, “It’s bigger than I expected and I—I don’t think I can do this, not comfortably.” Her voice is small, and vulnerable her head turned to the side, facing nothing but an empty wall, and if Fareeha knows anything of Angela it is that her greatest fears are of failure and of disappointing others, if Fareeha knows anything it is that to admit this must have been immeasurably hard, and painful. So, despite her disappointment, Fareeha does her best to be understanding.

“Hey,” she says, sits up reaches a hand to cup Angela’s chin, “Look at me, Angela, look at me. This is fine.”

“It isn’t,” says Angela, “Not when you’ve been looking forward to this. I want to make you happy, Fareeha, to satisfy you, in more ways than one.”

“You do make me happy, Angela,” Fareeha replies, and she has never been so sure of anything as she is of this, of her love.

“Still,” says Angela, looking rather more determined than she did a moment before, “I don’t want to give up on this entirely, just… not tonight.”

“Really, Angela, it is fine,” Fareeha insists, and it seems if she wants to explain herself she _will_ have to come clean about her motivations after all. “I didn’t specifically want to fuck you, you don’t have to worry about failing me there—or ever—I just… I just wanted to try…”

“You wanted?” Angela prompts her to continue when she falters.

“I thought, maybe, after all of the things I’ve discovered about myself lately, and my gender identity, it might be different? That maybe I might understand better why I had liked doing this in the past, why I liked the feeling of wearing a strap-on. I don’t know. It sounds silly,” says she, and her facing is burning now from something other than arousal, “but I thought I might like to try thinking of it as being my… cock?” She hates how hesitant she sounds on the last word, but, well, it _is_ embarrassing to give voice to, feels very private. Everything else, regarding experimenting with her gender, she has done on her own before coming to Angela, everything else has been private, has been safely kept to herself until she is certain of what she wants, of the truth of herself and her desires, and this _cannot_ be. To say she is in a vulnerable position is insufficient—she feels exposed, laid bare, and although she trusts Angela with her life, and more than, she still is nervous beyond words.

“Ah,” says Angela, gently, in a way that comes from knowing, on some level, how Fareeha feels, and then again, sounding much more intrigued than anything else, “ _Ah._ This, I think, we can do.”

There is a gleam in Angela’s eyes, now, that was not there before, and Fareeha feels some of the arousal which faded in the conversation immediately prior return to her, feels herself begin to squirm slightly under Angela’s gaze.

“Can we now?” she asks, and hopes her false bravado hides her lingering vulnerability and how very, _very_ interested she is in where the conversation is heading at the moment—she would not want to be too eager, would not want to push Angela into a position where she feels as if she _must_ do something.

“But of course,” says Angela, smirking as she does so, “Now that I know _that_ is what you want, we needn’t limit ourselves to just penetration. Have you ever had a blowjob?”

“That… depends on what you mean by it,” replies Fareeha, earnestly as possible, voice tightening ever so slightly as she feels her body respond to the suggestion, to the thought of Angela’s lips around her cock. “I’ve never gotten off, that way, but I’ve tried it, a bit, before.”

“Perhaps,” Angela suggests, licking her lips in a way Fareeha thinks is positively _unfair_ , “You simply haven’t had the right partner yet.” She moves off of Fareeha, and down the bed, to bend over at the crux of Fareeha’s legs, to press a kiss at the tip of the strap-on—no, to the tip of _Fareeha_ —before she adds, nearly as an afterthought, “Sensation isn’t everything, you know. Focus on how you feel.”

At the moment, Fareeha does not see how she could have her mind on anything _but_ that _,_ how she could think of anything but the knowledge that Angela is doing this for her, is knelt down between her legs in a pose so submissive in nature, how she is, for now, the one at _Fareeha’s_ mercy. It is a powerful thing, the symbolism of the act, and certainly more pleasurably than the contact itself.

Certainly, it is arousing to watch Angela trail her tongue up Fareeha’s shaft, and the pressure of the base against her clit when Angela moves is more than enough to sustain her for the time being, but her true focus is on the fact that Angela would do this, for her, would be willing to try something she almost certainly has not before, all because Fareeha thinks it _might possibly_ feel good, because Fareeha _might conceivably_ be an affirming experience. Even as one of Angela’s hands moves to trace patterns on her sensitive ribs, even as her own hand wanders to tweak at a nipple, her breath speeds not at that but at the thought that, in this moment, it is not unbelievable to think that Angela might do _anything_ for her.

With her free hand, she moves to grasp Angela’s head, not to press, not to force her down, but as an assurance she is present, is there, is enjoying this, and as her hands thread through fine hair, she realizes fully the trust Angela is placing her, the power of the position. Like this, she is in control, not only of herself—of her body, which, like this feels just right, but of both of them, like this, she is not at the hands of fate, but something wholly of herself.

The thought, in combination with the lewd pop accompanying Angela pausing for a moment, nearly makes her hips buck and she has to focus to still herself, to not move.

“Do you like this?” asks Angela, “I think you must; I can smell your arousal so strongly, down here.”

Fareeha nods in response, not trusting her own words, not able to say anything but _yes,_ and _please,_ and _I love you Angela, Angela, Angela,_ over and again, like a prayer.

She feels a hand dip to the hole she might almost have forgotten she had, were it not the way she ached to be touched, watches Angela draw out some of her wetness and spread it around the tip of her, and bites her lip to stop herself from groaning.

(In truth, she is only partially successful, and watching Angela grin as she swallows her cock prompts her to moan in earnest, eyes screwing shut for a moment and it is too much, too much, but not enough.)

The hand she has at her breasts speeds its motions and she can feel she is getting close, cannot think much more, at this point, beyond recognition of sensations. Her mind is full of Angela, and of wanting, and she is close, close, close, but it is not enough, not yet.

When she looks again, she sees Angela’s hand has moved off of her ribs and down, down, between Angela’s own legs, and _oh, oh_ it is good to know that this, too, can be satisfying for her lover, that to be like this is enough.

Her skin is hot, and she feels sweat drip from her temple, grounding her in the present, in her body. Yet, even like this, aware as she is of her own form, she realizes that she can feel, if she focuses, Angela’s lips on her cock, that thousands upon thousands of kisses have taught her well enough the feeling of Angela that she can experience this, now, as if that, too, were happening to her own flesh. She is whole, she is complete, she is so, _so_ close she is shaking.

 _Just a moment more,_ she thinks, _just a little bit,_ and she is right on the edge, back bowed, bearing down, her thighs shaking on either side of Angela’s head. All she is is ragged breaths, the ghost of Angela’s lips on her cock, and above all a need, a yearning for just a bit more, just a hint more pressure, or motion, or something, _anything,_ and she will be there.

“Please,” she hears herself beg, even though she was not aware she was going to speak, “Please— _Angela_ —more.”

For a moment, she thinks her plea will go ignored, and she bites back a sob, but then the hand which has been at the base of her cock moves to her clit, and Angela pulls off of her with a wet pop, makes eye contact, whispers, “ _Come for me, Fareeha,_ ” and she is gone.

All there is left is the bucking of her hips, the pulse at her center, and with her through it all is Angela, Angela, Angela, working her through it.

When she collapses back onto the bed, Angela crawls up to join her, giggling a bit as she bumps the strap-on in an attempt to twine their legs.

“Should I take it off?” Fareeha asks, wanting to ensure that Angela is comfortable before they continue.

“Only if you want to,” Angela replies, sounding a bit sleepy, and, moreover, hoarse.

Fareeha does, because they can lie together more comfortably that way, and because now that the moment is over, it is once again only a strap-on, and not a part of her, not special in any way. After taking a moment to catch her breath, and to prolong the experience, just a bit, she gently nudges Angela off of her and removes the harness.

“Now,” says she, kneeling over Angela, who has not moved in the meantime, “Where were we?”

All she receives in response is a gentle snore, Angela having fallen asleep in the two minutes it took her to divest herself and stow the toy away.

 _Well,_ she thinks, _there will be time enough later to continue things._ For now, this is enough, and more than. For now, things feel whole, and complete.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway... there's that lmao....
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed.


End file.
